


here take my sweater

by mariuscourf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Power Outage, it's not forced proximity but it's also not not forced proximity, jewish enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuscourf/pseuds/mariuscourf
Summary: Everyone's out of town for spring break except Grantaire, and Enjolras's power is out, and he really needs an internet connection, and it's definitely not that he just wants to hang out with Grantaire, shut up.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103





	here take my sweater

The power went out at four in the morning, but Enjolras didn’t notice until he woke up at six, his lamp refusing to turn on, pitch blackness making it really hard for him not to just go back to bed. It was starting to get light out earlier, but not _that_ early.

Still, Enjolras wasn’t going to let the lack of electricity stop him from changing the world– or at least getting a head start on the philosophy paper due the week after spring break, planning the lobbying day at the state capital the campus activism group was having at the end of the month, taking a practice LSAT, and writing a strongly-worded letter to his college administration about the lack of accessibility in the science building– the elevator had been out for a month, and Joly had to skip chemistry lab last week because he physically could not walk up three flights of stairs that day. Thankfully, his professor understood, but– not everyone would always have understanding professors, nor would everyone even be able to get up the three flights of stairs most days, and– it was a matter of principle, okay?

Using his phone as a flashlight, Enjolras made it twelve steps out of bed– the twelve steps it took to get from bed to his coffee maker– before he realized that yeah, the power was out, his coffee maker wouldn’t turn on. Defeated, he went back to bed. It was the first day of spring break: would it really kill him if he didn’t get right to work at six in the morning?

At seven, a rain-soaked, caffeine-deprived Enjolras stumbled into his favorite local, organic, fair-trade coffee shop downtown, or at least he tried– the front door was still locked.

“Christ, Enjolras.” Grantaire squeezed by behind him to unlock the shop. “It’s Saturday. And spring break, for fuck’s sake. And the _weather_.”

“I still have stuff to do, and the power’s out on campus.” They moved inside.

“Yeah, because of the torrential downpour.” Grantaire sighed. “Triple shot in the dark?”

“Unless you can get anything else make faster.”

Grantaire sighed again.

“I didn’t realize you were working today,” Enjolras commented. Joly, Bousset, Bahorel, and Feuilly were all off on some road trip somewhere– they skipped their Friday afternoon classes (well at least Bousset, the only one unlucky to have Friday afternoon classes, did) and took off in Bahorel’s cramped Jeep to drive who-knows-where. Enjolras had just assumed Grantaire went with the rest of them.

“Not all of us can afford to take the week off,” Grantaire said, handing Enjolras his ultra-caffeinated death wish in a compostable paper cup. “Fair warning, this is about as hot as my takes at yesterday’s meeting.”

“This isn’t Liebeck v McDonald’s Restaurants, I”m not going to sue you.”

Grantaire scoffed at that. “So the power’s out for everyone?” he asked.

“As far as I know. It’s out in my building, so it’s out for Combeferre at least, and I didn’t even bother asking Courfeyrac, because well, you know.”

Courfeyrac was a resident assistant in a first-year hall, which meant he had a single, but also meant that he had to share communal showers with freshmen who thought that smoking weed in the bathrooms was a fun and smart thing to do on a weeknight. Plus, he was harboring Marius Pontmercy on an air mattress in his already-cramped room, after Marius had one-too-many fights with his roommate when it was too late in the semester to get a room change. (“It’s my duty, as his RA–” Courfeyrac would protest anytime someone tried to give him shit for it. “Your duty as an RA is to mediate problems with his old roommate, not become his new one. Just admit it, you like the company,” Combeferre would retort.)

“Well, it’s not out at the house.”

Grantaire lived in a house near downtown. Enjolras could only dream of a house, an actual house, not just cramped on-campus studio apartments or suites shared between six people across a building from classrooms. He had lived in the same building as his World Politics class last year, accidentally showing up at times with bunny slippers– a gag gift from Courfeyrac– complimenting his freshly-pressed button down. What had started off as cat sitting for a professor– Valjean– while said professor was at a conference for a weekend turned into Valjean taking a year-long sabbatical to France, and Grantaire and Eponine moving in. Grantaire claimed it was to take care of the cats (who had died before Valjean’s sabbatical, but the flimsiest of excuses is still an excuse), not because Valjean knew there was no way that Eponine could keep sneaking her brother into her on-campus housing and that Gavroche couldn’t stay with his parents.

Enjolras sipped his coffee. “Working wifi?”

“Dude. Take a day off. It’s vacation.”

“I would never.”

Third sigh from Grantaire.

Five hours later, Enjolras had managed to get a draft of his paper knocked out, with Grantaire only interrupting every half hour or so.

“Hume and moral relativism? Really?” Grantaire said, peeking at Enjolras’s laptop screen. “You couldn’t think of anything more creative to write about? Listen, everyone knows that punching nazis is good, but– wait, hold up.” he commandeered Enjolras’s laptop.

“Richard Spencer being punched to All Star by Smash Mouth?” Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“Dude, are you kidding, you haven’t seen this? I was so sure this would be the only thing able to get you hard.”

The coffee shop was fairly empty– most of the college kids who populated the cafe normally had already left for break, and the hellish weather was keeping everyone else more or less away.

“My shift’s up in ten,” Grantaire said. “I’m going back to the house.”

“Power’s still out on campus.” Or at least it was half an hour ago, when Combeferre had texted, saying that he was leaving campus a day earlier than planned, driving in the pouring rain be damned.

“Yeah, it’s a weekend and spring break, it’s not like the administration is really going to be pulling any muscles trying to get this fixed.”

“Well, they won’t if they don’t know there are still people here who need electricity, and– and heat! There’s no heat, and there’s still snow on the ground. We could take this up with–”

“It’s all turned to slush at this point.”

Enjolras did have to admit that was true. “It’s Connecticut! It’s cold.”

Fourth sigh. Grantaire sighed a lot. “Only if you’re not used to it– look, you’re welcome to stay here, cafe’s open until nine, if you insist on being too fragile to not survive with just a sweater and a blanket.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Grantaire smirked.

Grantaire’s shift ended at three, and Enjolras didn’t entirely see the point of staying in the cafe after. He made it all the way to the edge of campus before realizing that wait, Grantaire was still walking with him, even though he lived in the opposite direction. They had been caught up in an argument about residence life’s drug policies (“they’re insisting on cracking down on marijuana when there are people with hard drug problems and no access to resources–” “for someone so straight-edge, you seem to have a lot of opinions on pot–” “they’re not just opinions on pot, they’re opinions on the prison industrial complex–”) and either Grantaire missed his turn, or he took the debate as an invitation to Enjolras’s (cold) apartment.

“It’s an optics thing. You can’t smell someone shooting heroine, but you can smell when someone’s smoking in their room, and it shouldn’t surprise you that the administration only cares about optics,” Grantaire said as they approached the door to Enjolras’s building.

Enjolras tried to swipe in before realizing that the lock on the door was electric. “Shit.”

“Oh, did you just realize you lost– oh, fuck. This is why I don’t live on campus.”

“We could wait for someone to come by,” Enjolras suggested.

“And your precious body could handle being outside for however long that takes?”

“Call an RA.”

“Right, because the RAs on this campus are known for actually being helpful.”

“Courfeyrac and Combeferre–”

“Courfeyrac is illegally living with a freshman and Combeferre is off campus. Listen, if you’re so determined to not die in the cold or whatever, you’re welcome to come over. Gavroche will make sure you don’t get anything done, but.”

Grantaire’s house was half a mile back in the direction they had just came from, but Enjolras didn’t really seem to have another choice.

They made almost it all the way there when Enjolras stopped in his tracks. “Why is there a cop car in your driveway?”

Grantaire burst out laughing. “Either I’m getting arrested, or it’s the fact that we share a driveway with the cop next door.”

On the other side of the police car were half a dozen signs proclaiming some variation of Black Lives Matter and ACAB. “Don’t worry, Gavroche egged his house last Halloween.”

Enjolras nodded approvingly.

He had been over twice before: once, back when he took criminal law with Valjean and the professor invited the class of eight over for dinner at the end of the semester (oh, small liberal arts), the second time to drop off a book for Grantaire a few months ago. With a twelve-year-old living on the couch, it wasn’t exactly a prime hangout spot, and it wasn’t like Enjolras and Grantaire (or Enjolras and Eponine, for that matter) hung out all too often.

Pictures of Valjean and his daughter lined the walls, but that seemed to be the only trace of the professor having once lived there. The living room looked like a bottle of Axe Body Spray had thrown up in it: Gavroche’s clothes and empty snack bags were everywhere. “I would say pardon the mess, but I don’t actually give a shit,” Grantaire said. “Sup, Gav?”

The kid barely looked up the video game he was engrossed in playing to nod back at Grantaire. “Remember Enjolras?”

This got Gavroche to make eye contact and wink in a way more smoother than Enjolras could ever wink when he was Gavroche’s age– not that he could wink now, but no twelve-year-old should have been allowed to have as much confidence as Gavroche.

“Shut up,” Grantaire said. “Uh, there’s leftover Chinese in the fridge if you want to ransack it. Eponine’s still asleep, probably, but you’re welcome to use the kitchen table as a desk, if you insist on being the worst and getting all your work done the literal first day of break.”

“Sounds good,” Enjolras responded, slightly confused about why Grantaire was being so hospitable. But he now had working electricity, and pressing Grantaire on it would definitely be pushing his luck.

Enjolras was about to click publish on the Facebook event for his– _not his, the ABC’s_ – lobbying day when the internet crashed. Shortly after, the power and heat went with it, followed by Gavroche’s screams from the living room about his unsaved video game.

Across the kitchen table, Grantaire just laughed. It was light enough outside that he was having no issues with his sketching, and of course, anything that inconvenienced Enjolras was hilarious to him. “Need a sweater?”

“It’s not funny, you know it’s because I’m from–”

“Atlanta, the birthplace of the civil rights movement, where the faucets spew sweet tea and the streets are lined with golden peaches. We know.”

Grantaire himself was from Maine, Enjolras was pretty sure. Vermont? One of the northern New England states. Either way, he was used to this, and christ, there wasn’t even any _snow left anymore_ , Enjolras should not be this chilly.

“I’ll shine a flashlight on you while you take your practice LSAT. Get Eponine and Gavroche on it too, you could just be surrounded in a halo of light,” Grantaire joked. (At least Enjolras thought he was joking.) “Or you could join the rest of us back down on earth and relax for a few _seconds_. We have uh, board games, maybe? That’s what normal people do when there’s no electricity, right?”

“You’re not normal people!” Gavroche shouted, a room away. Enjolras hadn’t even been aware he was listening.

Still, Valjean did indeed have a rather numerous collection of board games. “Monopoly?” Grantaire asked.

“Are you– are you _serious_? You’re endorsing the capitalist hell that game’s promoting–”

“Christ, Enjolras, it was a joke.” Grantaire rummaged through the cabinet.

“Scrabble?” Enjolras suggested.

“Fuck, even your board game choices have to be smarter than me. Pictionary?”

“Oh, now look who has the upper hand.”

Footsteps. Gavroche shoved between the two of them and wrangled out a box. “If you’re going to be gross and flirt in front of me, I’m picking the game.”

“We’re not–” Grantaire sighed ( _fifth sigh_ , Enjolras noted). “Life? Oh wait, let me guess, it’s too heteronormative.”

All Enjolras could offer in response was a shrug.

Eponine had finally woken up and rejoined them, the four of them sitting around a candlelitcoffee table with _Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader: The Board Game_ in the middle. “Duh, I’m in grade _seven_ ,” Gavroche had scoffed.

“Shut up and play,” Eponine glared. Gavroche rolled his eyes.

“Ah, I remember my youth,” Grantaire smirked. “Thinking I was too cool to hang out with my older sister and her much more exciting friend.”

“You’re an only child,” Enjolras said.

“Shocked you knew that,” Grantaire remarked, which on one hand, fair, but on the other– Enjolras made a it a _point_ to know everything about his friends, and though he and Grantaire weren’t close, Enjolras still considered him a friend.

“I know a lot of things,” Enjolras said, picking up a card. “First grade science: what causes tides?” He frowned.

“Oh, know lots of things, do you?” Grantaire turned to Eponine to mock-whisper. “It’s because he’s the Greek god of the Sun, not the moon.”

“Ugh, you just gave it away with your stupid crush,” Gavroche complained. “Come on, I was going to be the only one who knew this.”

“Okay, clearly R knows,” Eponine said.

“Who’s the Greek god of the sun?” Enjolras asked. “We could use him right about now.” He was bundled up in one of Grantaire’s paint-stained sweatshirts, wrapped in a blanket that Gavroche claimed was knitted by Valjean himself.

Eponine just burst out laughing and drew another card. “Fifth grade geography: how many countries are in North America?”

Gavroche won, obviously, with Eponine coming in a close second. “Guess the Thernardiers are just smarter than you,” Eponine bragged, high-fiving her younger brother.

“Low bar,” Grantaire remarked.

“Are you staying over?” Eponine asked. “Because if you’re staying over, Gavroche and I have the right to kick you out at any time.”

Enjolras could not tell if Eponine was joking or not. Sometimes, he was genuinely afraid of her. He went to check his phone, see if there was an update on the power situation on campus, but it was dead. “I, um– sure,” he stammered. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it.

“Ugh, what did you guys _do_ before technology?” Gavroche asked.

“Stay up with a flashlight under the covers reading,” Enjolras said.

“Nerd,” Grantaire said. Enjolras was about to protest that hey, he was staying up late with X-Men comics, not law books, at Gavroche’s age, but that probably wouldn’t help his case.

“I’m going to bed,” Gavroche decided. “Entirely out of boredom. Shoo.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “You do you, kid.”

The three of them ended up in Grantaire’s room, which seemed to have once belonged to Valjean’s daughter if the boy band posters on the wall were any indication (or maybe Valjean was really into the Nick Jonas, who was Enjolras to judge), sitting on the worn-out shag carpet. Eponine procured some wine from the closet (“don’t give us that judging look, it’s so Gavroche doesn’t find it”) and handed a cup to Enjolras.

Sitting in his old professor’s house in the dark, drinking wine out of a Dixie cup with inspirational sayings on the side ( _don’t quit your day dream!_ ) was not how Enjolras had anticipated his spring break starting off, but honestly? He was weirdly fine with this.

“So. Enjolras.” Eponine sipped from her Dixie cup ( _do more of what makes you happy!_ ), “truth or dare?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “What? We’re having a sleepover, we can play classic sleepover games.”

“Um. Truth?”

Eponine groaned. “Ugh, I can’t think of anything new I want to know about you. R?”

“Do you honestly think you’re going to change the world with any of this?” Grantaire asked, too quickly. Did he have that question just loaded up and ready to go?

Eponine shot back the rest of her drink. “So we’re going there.”

“No, it’s okay, I can answer,” Enjolras said. Do I honestly think I’m going to change the world? Yes.”

Grantaire shook his head and laughed.

“No, listen, I’m already changing the world, we all are.”

“If you bring up the recycling program you started at your synagogue in middle school one more time–”

“We’re all having an impact by being here, and while we probably won’t be the ones to fix it all, we can’t not try.”

“That was a double negative.” Grantaire said, moving to refill everyone’s cups.

“You’re not going to argue?”

“Oh excuse me, I didn’t realize that arguing over grammar wasn’t considered real fighting.”

“I meant– about repairing the world– you know that’s what I meant.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Eh, I’ll do that later. Wake you up at 6am tomorrow with a disimpassioned speech on how injustice is just a part of life.”

“That’s when I wake up anyway.”

“Of course it is.”

“And why are around to wake me up, anyway?” Enjolras asked. At some point, the two of them had inched closer, and while a Dixie cup of wine was barely any alcohol– hell, he’d drunk more at Friday night kiddush once his parents let him switch from grape juice to objectively awful wine– he kind of wanted to kiss Grantaire.

“You’re sleeping here tonight.”

“Guys?” Eponine cleared her throat. “Like, I can leave.”

“Back to the game,” Enjolras said, always on track. “Truth or dare, Grantaire?”

Grantaire bit his lip. “Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me why you don’t believe in anything.”

“Enjolras, have you ever played truth or dare before?” Eponine asked. She had moved on from Dixie cups to just drinking straight from the bottle. “This isn’t how it works.”

“I believe in you,” Grantaire said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Dare,” Eponine blurted. “I’m picking dare, and I’m daring myself to leave the room.”

As soon as she left, closing the door behind her because “my baby brother is asleep in the living room, just _please_ remember that,” Grantaire’s mouth was on Enjolras’s.

Enjolras’s knees dug into the shag carpet as he leaned more towards Grantaire. “I knew you were mouthy, but not like this.”

Grantaire laughed.

Enjolras just kissed him again.

The lights flooded on around at around six in the morning, and if that wasn’t enough to wake Enjolras up, Gavroche was shouting something about the power being back.

“What, no hot takes on injustice?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire, half-asleep sprawled over him, groaned. “We’re all ants on the face of this planet,” he eventually mumbled. “Ants who should go back to sleep. Ants who need to get up soon anyway because they have jobs and really need that last twenty minutes.”

“You owe me a debate,” Enjolras yawned.

“Mmm. Goodnight.”

Enjolras had papers to write, studying to do, emails to send. But it was the second day of spring break, and Grantaire wanted another twenty minutes of sleep.

He crawled out from under Grantaire, flipped the lights off, and went back to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I found this while clearing out files on my laptop; I wrote it a few years back when the power really did go out in my college dorm on the first day of spring break, during the year where I was an RA and college freshmen kept smoking weed in the communal showers (that was not a thing I just made up for this fic, but wow how I wish it was). As such, the references are slightly dated, but you're welcome for the reminder of those videos where Richard Spencer gets punched and then music starts playing (just assuming that if you're reading modern-day gay Les Mis fic, you're into punching nazis, so.)
> 
> Title from The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson. 
> 
> Shoutout to Daney for reading this years ago, and again now. Shoutout to Mollie for letting me live-text her my rediscovering of this fic on my hard drive, and encouraging me to keep the Jewish Enjolras references in.
> 
> Kudos/comments/etc appreciated. Snail mail me your favorite lines sandwiched between comments on areas where I could improve. Get a carrier pigeon to bring me your own college headcannons. Telegraph over your own instances of projecting onto somehow both Enjolras and Grantaire at the same time, using Morse code.
> 
> Thanks for reading! x


End file.
